


On the Tip of his Tongue

by CrimsonFrostbite



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mino is a kid at heart, Smut, Soulmates, everyone loves Jinwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13436724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonFrostbite/pseuds/CrimsonFrostbite
Summary: It was dark, but the fireworks reflected in Jinwoo's eyes had him stupefied. Minho could pretend those were New Year's fireworks and ask Jinwoo for a New Year's kiss. He wouldn't say no, Minho knew for sure, the way Jinwoo noticed every little detail about him, the way he laughed at his jokes that nobody found funny, or the way he stared at him right then under the summer night sky filled with colorful resonances, he wouldn't say no.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #71: must include a crossword puzzle, motorcycles, letter writing

Minho remembered how the marks on his body fading. His soulmate was dying, very slowly, a painful death. Body trembled, skin scorching, hair damp with cold sweats, he reached the phone, dialed the number he knew so well. The line went dead.

He sat on the cold floor, broken, blankly staring at his pale skin, shaky limbs. One after another, the marks died away. He told himself to get up, run to wherever his soulmate was, but his body stopped listening. His vision grew dark rapidly, head spinning with tons of questions, chest tightened with some invisible chains. He called his mom, anyone, probably his last hope.

“Save him…”

Someone's voice calling his name was the last thing he heard before collapsing.

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

It was the beginning of summer, Minho back at his hometown. His parents pampered him with everything they had, little sister punched his shoulder, teasing how skeleton-thin he had become. They were all laughing, four years and he changed so much, nobody had believed he could survive that long. Not in a very good way, but he did. His mom kneaded his arm, discreetly checking the newest tattoo. Minho knew the question she was holding back. It was always the same, asked over and over and over to the extent just the thought of it made him nauseous.

“I’m okay, mom. I’m okay.”

She smiled, patted his back as if to say he did well. Of course he did well, he told himself that when he tattooed his entire body in order not to stare at the plain, boring skin, when the ceiling was too sickening he rather closed his eyes and let those ugly memories drowned him, when alone became so dreadful that he decided to go back; he did well.

Seunghoon stopped by that night, immediately crushed Minho with his “bro-hug”. His childhood friend had a unique way to welcome him, headlocks, shirt gripping, screams in the ears. Minho complained nothing, actually missed that. No matter what it was, Seunghoon always beside him, witnessed his greatest as well as lowest but never judged him. Minho had his head on the cloud, Seunghoon was down to earth. Minho hated numbers and statistics, Seunghoon majored in business. And they were friends, funny how they got along so well.

“Say hi to my new baby,” by “baby”, Seunghoon meant his motorbike, parking right in front of the front door, blocking the entrance.

It looked cool, Minho had to admit, a big fat bike, shiny black polish with fire decals.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad? Dude, humor me, it’s straight fantastic.”

“Yeah, right, right,” Minho played along, of course, everything Seunghoon did was _fantastic_ , “where’s the red one?”

“My girlfriend took it. Now let’s go--”

”To your coffee shop?”

“To my _café_ ,” Seunghoon snorted, threw him a purple helmet, “it’s been a good four years, you’ll see how everything changed.”

Everything did change. In fact, it changed a lot, Minho almost couldn’t recognize the old coffee shop where he first met his soulmate. The former owner was a guitarist so he hung guitars everywhere, the light too dim to actually see anything. But Seunghoon renovated it all, hung up nothing but more lights.

“Oh hello, boss,” a guy with pink hair greeted them with a beam on his face, a faint blush rose on cheeks when their eyes meet. He was cute, totally a real prince that just stepped out of those fairy tales or animated films. Fluffy, pink hair, an almost identical resemblance to Prince Gumball. A nudge from Seunghoon brought Minho back to real life.

“So this prince is the most famous employee here, boys and girls from all over the world come just to see him. He’s also a part-time Broadway star, right, mister Prince?”

“Not like that, I’m a fine art student,” Prince Gumball laughed, extended his hand, a mark on the back of his hand took Minho aback, “my name is Jinwoo.”

Right, he had a soulmate, everyone did.

“Good evening, your highness, please call me Minho.”

Jinwoo’s hand was so comfortable, fit so well in his, as if they were made for each other. Clearly not, but it felt right holding his hand like that. Minho was sure Jinwoo thought the same as he squeezed a little tighter, held his hand a little longer.

“Ehem, Jinwoo, you’ll miss your bus.” Seunghoon’s words burned, Jinwoo retreated his hand abruptly, and Minho felt like he had lost the world. That was new to him, he didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

“Would you like something to drink?” Jinwoo asked, voice apologetic, hand ran through his fluffy hair.

“No, no, you gotta catch your bus--”

“I have some latte in the fridge, just give me one sec.”

Jinwoo dashed behind the counter and back with a large cup of coffee and some tiny pastries, and before Minho could say anything, he handed him all of them in hurry and quickly saying goodbye.

Not until Jinwoo’s figure disappeared beyond the pedestrians and traffic and buildings that Minho realized he didn’t even thank him, feet stuck to the ground, holding onto the coffee cup like his life depended on them.

“Like what you see?” Seunghoon cut his thought.

“Who? Jinwoo?”

“No dude, my shop." Smirking, Seunghoon threw him a how-pathetic look, anyone could see what he tried to do, and Minho wasn’t an exception. He kicked the other, stuttered out a hollow compliment, fully knowing that Seunghoon wouldn’t miss the chance to make fun of him until the day he died.

 

Jinwoo appeared in his mind when the clock went past 2. The bed was a bit uncomfortable, the air heavy, weighting down his chest. He shut his eyes, shook his head, Jinwoo still there, behind the counter with a sweet smile, holding a large cup of coffee. Curious to know how it tasted, Minho got out of bed, took a sip of the latte he’d hidden in the mini fridge. The bitterness lingered on his tongue as the sweetness swept through, strangely beautiful, albeit it was a regular latte, he wouldn’t mind another white night.

 

Minho found himself at the coffee shop again, didn’t expect to see Jinwoo with black hair when he opened the door. If pink hair Jinwoo was a surreal young prince, black hair Jinwoo was a maze of endless wonders. White t-shirt, black apron around his waist, he welcomed him with a smile like yesterday; it was genuine, comforting, somehow like a calming pill that might as well an overdose.

“Look who’s here,” Seunghoon called out, “yo, give us a hand, put that chair on the table, I gotta go now.”

He said something about cameras in the back room then took his stuff, rushed straight out of the back door, the sound of engine starting, and _vroom_ , he was gone. 

“Bet he does that a lot,” Minho mocked, eyes fixed at Jinwoo’s every movement, “alright, now, what do you want me to do?”

With a wave of his hand, Jinwoo shook his head slightly, the way he did it made Minho wanted to step forward and hold his hand and squeeze him tight and--

“It’s fine, you don’t have to.”

“Nah, let’s say it’s my thank you for yesterday,” Minho found his voice a little shaky, “s-- should I clean the counter?”

Jinwoo nodded, timidly like how he asked Minho to fill the tiny red bucket with sanitizer. After thirty minutes of cleaning up and putting the chairs upside down, Minho discovered the parallels between their worlds, Jinwoo drank a lot and Minho had a mini fridge full of beer, Jinwoo majored in fine art at the same college Minho once attended, Jinwoo adopted an old cat because she’d been in the shelter for too long and the kitten Minho brought home during middle school didn’t have any eye; a lot of similarities and possibilities of potential soulmates, except the marks on their bodies didn’t match.

The corner of his lips automatically curled upward, turning into a grin when Jinwoo gave him a cup of iced tea, so tenderly, so fondly, eyes sparkled, lips too red, an exquisite world he’d never seen. Jinwoo had nice fingers, thin plain rings on every digit. Minho admitted he had a thing for guys with pretty hands, but an angel with pretty hands was the first time in his life, probably the last, and Minho didn’t even believe in God.

He decided to walk Jinwoo to the bus stop and wait with him because, well, because, because, just because he didn’t have a good reason. Staying next to Jinwoo gave him a sense of peace, a luxury thing he had been craving for many years.

“Stop by on Friday, I’ll make you something nice.” It sounded like a promise, so Minho said okay, Jinwoo didn't even have to make him anything, he would still say okay.

“You’re off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow and Sunday ‘cause I go to church.” Jinwoo checked his phone, fingers dancing gracefully on the screen, Minho couldn’t help but stare at them, admiring.

“I like your fingers--”

“What?”

“What?” _Shit._

That was reckless and stupid and ridiculous and corny and Minho wished the ground would crack open and swallow him whole. He did like Jinwoo’s fingers, he really did, but saying it out loud in front of his face when they barely knew each other for more than two hours was the least decent thing he could do. Minho swore there was smoke belched from his ears and his heart wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down in chest and his guts all dropped to his feet and he couldn’t even feel his feet anymore.

For a moment, the whole street fell into silence before a laugh spurted into the air, Jinwoo covered his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Thanks, it was nice hearing it.”

“Sorry,” Minho scratched his head, grinning like an idiot because he was.

“What for?”

“For saying inappropriate stuff.”

“Apology accepted, but I think it’s cute,” Jinwoo tilted his head slightly, reminding him of the kitten stuck in the bush he saved that day in middle school, sunrays illuminated the smile on his face, deadly beautiful.

Luckily, or unluckily, his bus arrived, Jinwoo thanked him a few more times and hopped on, waved at him again from the window.

Minho headed back home, the evening was quiet, his heart still went thump thump thump loudly.

  

Minho began to come along more often, well, only on Jinwoo's working days to be precise. Every time, Minho made sure to bring his laptop, tablet, sketchbook, camera, color pencils, thousands of art materials so he would have an excuse to sit there and a little chit-chat with Jinwoo. They usually started with some small talk, then changing back and forth between joking and flirting. It was so easy Minho never took time to actually think about it. If Jinwoo was busy, he would just sit next to the window, work on his projects, stealing a glance at Jinwoo once in a while, couldn’t stop himself from raising the camera and capture the moments.

The more he observed, the more he believed Seunghoon. People liked Jinwoo. Maybe because of his slender hands, the coffee he made, the stories he told, the way he listened diligently, the way he smiled and the entire world shone with him, people liked him, a little too much, just like how Minho did.

Jealousy was ugly, he knew, shouldn’t feel that way, Jinwoo probably saw him as nothing more than a regular customer, perhaps a friend of his boss, it was his job to smile at everyone. Exactly the same. Or slightly different. Despite telling himself not to get his hopes up over something not existing, every time Jinwoo looked at his way, spring bloomed in his chest, heart beat too fast he couldn’t keep up; he saw himself stepping closer and closer to the edge of water as days slowly passed by.

“You don’t like working in some big companies?” Jinwoo pulled a chair next to him, it was almost closing time, only two customers Minho presumed to be a couple sat in a corner.

“Working at home is much better, companies are like a tank full of white sharks."

“To be honest, I never expected you to be a graphic designer,” Jinwoo tapped his finger against the table, eyes fixed on his camera, asking for permission, Minho gave him his tablet instead, too early to let Jinwoo see his obsession.

“What did you expect then?” Minho propped his face with one hand, awaiting.

“A rapper maybe-- Jesus,” Jinwoo squeaked when he swiped the screen, scanned every single detail of Minho’s work, mouth agape with awe, “you can totally open a gallery with this, oh my gosh.”

Minho took a sip from his drink, blood rushed to his face, the smell of coffee stirred his mind. It was a mere advertisement poster for a toothpaste brand but Jinwoo made him believe he was Van Gogh and his work a masterpiece in itself.

“If I do, will you come to the opening ceremony?”

“Of course, yes, I will, invite me."

Minho chuckled, definitely, he had to invite Jinwoo if that gallery ever existed in the future. Suddenly, future sounded so strange to him, he wondered what would happen in the next five years, if Minho still lived with his parents, if Seunghoon still owned the coffee shop, if he and Jinwoo still sat next to each other in lazy evenings, talking about every little thing in the universe like there was nothing else to do. Minho wished they could go further, much further than solely talking, but the Rubik's cube on Jinwoo's hand reminded him of something he never wanted to remember, putting him in his place.

“So what’s your plan after graduation?” He asked the first thing popped up in his head.

“Guess I’ll go back to Guam," Jinwoo pouted, causing Minho to lose his balance mentally, "initially I moved here with my ex but we broke up so there’s nothing for me to stay anyway.”

Oh, Minho almost forgot, he was so used to seeing Jinwoo there in the black apron, looking good and lyrical like goodbye kisses, though, Jinwoo had his own life outside the coffee shop. Very likely, the future without Jinwoo would be much different, and fate might want to go against them, Minho still felt grateful that his existence could be a part of Jinwoo's life, even if it was just a tiny portion of his memory, a tiny spot in his heart.

“Are you gonna miss me?” Jinwoo reached out his hand, fixing Minho's hair with tenderness as if he was precious and Minho only wanted to scream damn yes _I miss you so fucking bad already_. He didn’t, motionless, maybe Jinwoo already had the answer, eyes locked with him.

“I know for sure I’m gonna miss you,” Jinwoo’s voice was tiny, and even though the mark still stung Minho’s eyes, he willing to jump in and let the water drown him.

  

Seunghoon was the first to notice the pattern. He inspected, analyzed, stopped by Minho’s place without a heads-up.

“Yo, so you like my café that much?” His voice was loud and clear but Minho decided to play deaf, paying no attention until a pillow knocked his head.

“Yeah, it has the vibe I need for drawing,” Minho said without looking at his friend, eyes focused on the computer screen. Heard a thud behind, he assumed Seunghoon just threw himself on his bed.

“More like my shop has the person you want to draw," Seunghoon dragged out his voice and all Minho could do was cursing.

First of all, Seunghoon’s accusation wasn't true, he didn't draw Jinwoo (maybe one day he should), only took some pictures, sketched a bit, daydreamed a bit. In his dream, the marks had never existed, soulmates were a theory, Minho didn't have a soulmate and Jinwoo didn't belong to anyone. For wishing something so rash and selfish like that, it might cost him ninety-nine souls, still couldn’t stop the elation firing inside his stomach.

“My girlfriend asked if you would like a double date--”

“Interesting," Minho picked his nose and flicked it behind his back, "but no.”

“Come on, kid,” Seunghoon jumped off of the bed, turned Minho around and screamed into his face, “admit that you like Jinwoo!”

"You wish," if liking Jinwoo was easy as spitting out those words, Minho would admit it right away, no hesitations, no regrets, but his life was a joke, his clear skin, his tattoos, "he'll hate me if he knows about my--"

"Stop it," Seunghoon pointed one finger at his chest, "you know, _me_ know, he's not that kind of person."

“So what? I’m not supposed to be with him--”

“Why not? Because of the marks?”

Minho paused, unsure what to say. His friend was never the type to believe in soulmates, to him, a mark was no different from a tattoo. There was no point talking with him anyway. Seunghoon met his soulmate once while going shopping with his mom. They found a place to sit down, talked for two hours, and that was all, Minho never heard about them again.

“Those marks are not everything, wake up!" Seunghoon futilely tapped his face a few times, "don't you wanna be happy?"

"Jinwoo's happiness is my happiness."

"Ew..." Seunghoon curled his lips, "so you're gonna be okay even if Jinwoo's soulmate is a murderer?”

“The fuck? No!”

“See? Those marks are not credible. They help you find your soulmate, true, but is your soulmate the right one?” Seunghoon shrugged. “Life’s supposed to be unpredicted, you shouldn’t let these little melanomas manipulate you.”

“What shit are you on, dude?”

Seunghoon stared at him, intimidating like he knew, he always knew, why was Minho even surprised? He averted his eyes, heard a breathy chuckle.

“I guess you're serious this time,” Seunghoon plopped into his bed again, still smirking, eyebrows raised, "but it's 2017 already, soulmates don’t have to be lovers, kid." 

Minho heard that before, in philosophy class, the professor when on and on about soulmate being epistemological, ideological, some big words he couldn’t understand. Possibly, or Minho wished, Seunghoon was right, although they said to be careful with what you wished, he couldn't help himself.

 

Minho couldn't help himself, came to the coffee shop at 4 as usual, only to see the guy he didn’t remember his name behind the counter. He checked his phone, Jinwoo did have a schedule, but instead that guy standing there, staring, and for some reason, Minho hated it so much. Obviously, he knew, Minho played it off, asking about weather, environment, things and things.

“Jinwoo went home early,” the other guy said, voice monotone, “he has a dental checkup.”

That information didn’t do Minho any flavor, he had no idea what to do or how to react or if he should go home and call it a day. He realized he didn’t have Jinwoo’s number or Facebook, or Twitter, or Instagram, or anything, never asked; it had become a habit to meet Jinwoo in the coffee shop and bid him a goodbye when his bus arrived.

“Here, he left you this,” the other guy handed him a piece of folded paper, “I swear he can be really annoying sometimes, always Minho this Minho that--”

Minho hastened to grab the paper, red letters scribbled on it with a phone number.

_We should hang out sometimes._

Minho chuckled, could not believe some simple words already made he felt so high he could fly into the moon and never come back. It was almost the greatest poem Minho'd ever read, he should frame the paper and hang it up on the wall somewhere in his room. He saved Jinwoo’s number, wondered if that changed anything. 

 

“You did not,” Minho gasped, hand on his chest, "how disappointing!"

“Let’s count how many times you went to church this year, how about that?” Jinwoo sneered at him, nibbling the waffle cone like a bunny nibbling his carrot. 

They went out to have ice cream because Jinwoo suddenly thought having ice cream on a hot Sunday evening would be great and Minho totally agreed, internally called it the first date. The ice cream in his hand started to slump to one side; normally, he would pick strawberry flavor, but even Jinwoo chose dark chocolate so he told himself to man up and the consequence was to suffer the bitterness on his tongue. 

“Alright, I’m the bad kid, now go on, why did you skip mass?"

“They said weird things last time," Jinwoo lowered his voice, "I didn't like it.” 

“What did they say?” Minho knew it was a mistake.

“Like you’ll be descended to hell if you take others’ soulmates.”

They sat still, quietly focused on chewing, swallowing, breathing, the ice cream wasn’t even that good, but there nothing else. Minho forgot how to speak suddenly. Jinwoo turned to look at him, put a smile on his face.

“Weird, right?” 

There was no answer, Minho unsure what to say, too busy watching Jinwoo licking the ice cream dripping around the cone. Hell was just a concept, he wondered how bad it could be, perhaps just as bad as how he felt whenever Jinwoo right next to him, ethereal like a dream never came true. There was nothing to be afraid of hell, Minho went through once and didn't mind to do it again. 

"Yeah, weird. So weird."

"Weird."

"Wiener."

Minho's lame pun had Jinwoo erupted in a high-pitched laughter, hand slapping his thigh, head leaning against his shoulder. Well, if that was hell, Minho didn't even want to see heaven anymore.

 

The guitarist in the black fedora played a familiar classical composition; to Minho, all the pieces of classical music sounded just alike, nostalgic and ravishingly unsettling, but it soothed Minho's heart in a way he couldn't understand. The entire coffee shop fell into the endlessness, warm tone, gentle sound, golden light. It had been a custom for local artists to perform at the shop once a month to promote themselves. The previous owner loved young talents, Minho's soulmate happened to be one of them, sitting in a corner holding a guitar, singing a love song. It had been a long time, he could only remember a few lines.

Minho nodded his head slightly to the rhythm, watching Jinwoo walking back and forth between tables, cute smile, dimple on his cheeks. The guitarist winked at him when he passed by, Minho thought it was an illusion, a mistake of his eyes, but Jinwoo winked back. The music stopped flowing in Minho's ears, then and there, he couldn't enjoy the night anymore, found the guitarist quite irksome, the songs he played obnoxious. He seemed young and strange. Who wore a hat in the house? Yet he had marks, a string of tiny dark spots ran down his right arm, the light too dull to decipher the shapes of each one. Minho couldn't breathe, forgot how to do so, the air dense with unnamed emotions. He left the table, went out of the door. The sun hadn't set, the sky looked vast and tedious, too yellow for his liking. The sound of guitar picking still stuck in his ears, he had to go farther, a bit farther.

"Dude, what the heck are you doing out here?"

The dull voice of Seunghoon wasn't something he expected, still better than nothing. Seunghoon tried to light his cigarette but it quickly went dim and died. 

"Need some fresh air."

Seunghoon tapped his back, white smoke swirled from the cigarette on his hand.

"Jinwoo's looking for you, go."

Minho should make up an excuse and go home, Seunghoon might not buy it but wouldn't stop him. His phone vibrated in pocket, a new text from Jinwoo asking where he was. The show came to an end, Minho was glad. He could endure it, just for a while, it couldn’t be that hard after all.

It was hard, Minho watched Jinwoo stayed close to the guitarist, too close, hand on his shoulder, lips dangerously near his ear. He wanted to know what they talked about, what history they shared with each other. After almost a century, the guitarist waved at him and left, unaware of Minho's resentment. Minho stepped closer, finally having Jinwoo's attention all for himself.

“Minho, where have you been?" Jinwoo sounded so worried, melting his heart a bit.

"I went out for some fresh air. Were you worried?"

"Of course, I thought something happened," Jinwoo picked up a small leaf on his shirt so spontaneously, like it was something usual, and Minho wanted to embrace him, assuring him nothing would happen, at least Minho wouldn't let it happen, "by the way, wanna come over, I just bought a new game."

The image if the guitarist ran through his mind, made him needier, he said yes, wanted to be close to Jinwoo. He called his mom before walking the latter to the bus stop and followed him to the back seat.

It wasn't his first time coming to Jinwoo's apartment which was in another town, twenty-six bus stops away, he shared the place with his roommate, two guys, but it was pretty clean. They had a long couch with an old TV likely for playing video games only. The apartment wasn't too big or too small, just enough to move freely without bumping into stuff.

Minho sat on the floor, drinking beer as if it was water. Playing games with Jinwoo would always be the most bizarre moment in his life. Jinwoo was indeed an angel but he went on, smashed the buttons, and killed every enemy with an enthusiastic and aggressive attitude; Minho promised himself to never get on the wrong side of him. Likewise, Jinwoo was still adorable, competitively adorable.

“Woo hoo! Teamwork!" Jinwoo offered a high-five, a legitimate reason to touch his hand, "you’re much better than my roommate!”

Of course, he had to be better, didn’t know why, but he had to.

“The guitarist today,” Minho wasn't able to stop himself, “the one with the hat, is he your soulmate?”

Jinwoo raised one brow, staring at him, Minho couldn't tell if that was a yes or no.

"What makes you think so?"

What made him think so? Oh, many things made him think so, Minho shouldn't explode, it wasn't Jinwoo's fault, it was him, only believing what he wanted to believe, carrying on regardless. 

"Well, he stared at you all the times, he winked, then you winked, I'm just curious, you know, not like I have rights to say, then you talked, no, mumbl- no, no, no, I mean, shit, forget it."

Thankfully, the controller in his hands was hard enough to not be crumbled under his absurd exasperation. 

"Cute." Jinwoo uttered, soft and melodic like a lullaby, one arm draped over Minho's knee; Minho was older but Jinwoo kept treating him like a kid, sweet talks and head-strokings (Minho didn't mind), making it harder for him.

“He's a friend. I haven’t found mine.” The pain in Jinwoo's eyes, someone broke his heart once. Minho didn’t know what to say, an apology might be a fiasco; he wasn’t even sorry but quite relieved, heart lighter, feet levitating. That meant, until Jinwoo found his soulmate, maybe he got a chance, temporary, but it worth a try.

“What are you doing this July Fourth?” Minho asked, unable to control his eagerness.

“Nothing,” Jinwoo dropped the controller, finished his can of beer, “stay home and sleep, I guess.”

“Wanna come over, my family’s having a party,” Minho stared at his lips, curious about their taste, “Seunghoon’s gonna be there too.”

“Should I buy something?”

“Nah, my parents are pretty chill-”

The faint sound from the door caught his attention and before he could register what was going on, Jinwoo abruptly dragged him up, faster than a bullet. It was pitch dark, just like in movies and fictions, they were stuck in a bathroom, just two of them, standing too close to each other, and fuck personal space, he didn't mind staying like that with Jinwoo for hours if only the latter allowed. It was the right moment for a kiss and they would realize how nice it was, and so they continued, locked lips, peeled off the fabric separating them, some erotic moves, and next day, they would become boyfriends.

Well, in real life, none of that happened, instead, Minho heard a giggle from Jinwoo.

“I forgot I’m not supposed to be here tonight.”

“Why?”

“My roommate wants the apartment,” the front door opened and closed, Minho and Jinwoo peeked through the crack, Jinwoo’s back pressed against his chest.

In the living room, two figures entwined in each other’s arms, almost merging, the reverbs of kissing and moaning and panting had both Minho and Jinwoo chuckled. He tried to muffed his laugh, but it was impossible, didn’t even know why it so funny, hiding in the bathroom while two guys were making out in the living room, clothes falling off bit by bit.

“There we go,” Jinwoo whispered through his fingers, “my roommate and his soulmate--”

“Sounds poetic to me,” Minho whispered back with a serious tone, “my roommate is banging his soulmate, while I’m stuck here tying my shoelace, oh my god--”

“Tu me plais.”

Minho stared at the latter (he thought so), disbelieved, mouth agape, raising his thumb, not sure if Jinwoo could see.

“Didn’t know you speak French, what does it mean?”

There was a prolonged pause before Jinwoo spoke again, more like mumbled, the couple outside was too loud for Minho to catch it.

“What? Can’t hear--”

“It means I’m fucked up.”

 

With a basket of fruit and cheese, Jinwoo arrived his home early, comfortable clothes, the backpack made him look like a teenager. And those short pants did a very great job outlining his curves.

Minho shook his head at the thought. 

As he expected, his parents were stunned, surrounding him with a ton of questions, treating him like a celebrity. The blush on his chest grew darker every time they complimented his look. Jinwoo handed his mom the basket, glancing at Minho as if to ask if he did well like he was about to be a part of Minho's family. Minho shook his head the second time that night although the prospect of spending his life with Jinwoo forever seemed appealing and adventurous simultaneously, warming up his stomach, leaving him uplifted.

In the end, Minho had to escort Jinwoo to his room before his relatives started to suffocate him with questions he didn't want to hear.

"Your parents are so nice." Jinwoo shoved another piece of pork into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks like a hamster.

Minho tried to think of something funny to say but his excitement already exceeded his cognition, Jinwoo's presence in his bedroom inspired awe in him, his imagination ran wild.

"Hey, isn't that mine?"

"What?" Minho followed Jinwoo's finger, his expression changed immediately, he realized how dumb he was because the piece of paper that had Jinwoo's handwriting was right there, framed, hung up high on the wall.

Minho let out a groan of frustration, but Jinwoo didn't seem to bother. He looked at the frame closely, even used his phone to take pictures of it.

“You're so cute." Jinwoo laughs, checking the photos.

Oh, Minho was lost for words, nobody called him cute before. If it had come from someone else, he might have got furious and fight them immediately, but since it was Jinwoo, it became a blessing as Minho just saved the whole universe.

"Here, got something for you,” Jinwoo took out from his backpack a bracelet made of small white and purple beads, not really Christian style, “it helps you sleep.”

“Are you stalking me? How do you--”

 Jinwoo slapped his arm, halfheartedly. 

“Let me help you," he deliberately put the bracelet on Minho's wrist, it looked funny to him, not the bracelet, but his ugly wrist wearing the bracelet, “there, do you like it?”

Minho didn't have a chance to answer when the crackling noise and Seunghoon's yell from outside cut through like a starting pistol. Minho and Jinwoo raced downstairs, the bracelet wrapped around his wrist perfectly.

Watching fireworks was nothing new to Minho, they whistled and exploded above, hot sparks blending to the stars, the blast, the boisterous cheering and screaming, the fire truck sirens howling from a distance. Yet Jinwoo was before his eyes, lightening up a cracker, colors burning through the smoke, the smell of gunpowder in his nostrils. Jinwoo began to run when the crackers ignited and burst through the air. The July Fourth had never been lively like that, Minho's heart felt so full he wanted to explode with the fireworks.

All the crackers burned out quickly, he wasted a hundred bucks in a very short time, but Jinwoo's excited yells and pure laugh worthed every penny. They sat down on the grass, watching the show from afar, shoulders brushed against each other. Minho turned to look at Jinwoo who was staring back at him. It was dark, but the fireworks reflected in Jinwoo's eyes had him stupefied. Minho could pretend those were New Year's fireworks and ask Jinwoo for a New Year's kiss. He wouldn't say no, Minho knew for sure, the way Jinwoo noticed every little detail about him, the way he laughed at his jokes that nobody found funny, or the way he stared at him right then under the summer night sky filled with colorful resonances; he wouldn't say no. He wouldn't.

There were so many things Minho wanted to say, but instead, he watched the latter in silence for a long time, almost eternity, let their shoulders touch completely, savoring that moment, the fragile, surreal moment. Even when they lay down next to each other in his bed, only a few inches away, too few, the touch of Jinwoo’s fingers against his body, _You’re so beautiful_ slipped out of his mouth, all Minho could do was to hope and pray for himself; the world he’d known was shaped into Jinwoo’s hands completely and he didn’t even regret it. But Jinwoo deserved more than that, although Minho had absolutely nothing, nothing, and Jinwoo deserved the entire universe, and Minho was just a man that lost his soulmate.

Probably because of the bracelet, Minho didn't have any dream that night, a full sleep of revival. It was the bracelet, he told himself over and over, the bracelet, the bracelet, the bracelet, not because of the man in his arms, fitting every indentation of his body like they were meant to be.

  

Minho didn’t remember when it started, coming from deep inside, like acidity, slowly burning, eating him up inside out. Maybe it began when a call from his client woke him up in the morning and Jinwoo wasn’t there when he opened his eyes. It couldn’t be a dream, his hair on the pillow, the bed sheet still smelled like him. The worst part was Jinwoo hadn't even looked at him once ever since he stepped into the shop, his co-worker took his order and shooed him out of the line for standing too long.

Maybe because the couple next table were noisy and insolent when they mentioned their encounter with a tattoo artist, started acting almighty and said something about fake marks, or when the contempt in their conversation reminded Minho of the names people used to call him four years ago, and they weren’t pretty. Damn, if Seunghoon was there, he would have jumped to his defense, kicked the couple out of the shop, stopped Minho before his anger consumed him. Too bad, Seunghoon didn’t even come to work that day, Minho thought he broke the table and the guy’s nose. His blood kept boiling, the ringing in his ears wouldn't stop, the face of that guy blurred out. Someone held him back and shouted something he couldn't hear. He remembered hiding in a quiet bathroom stall after his first tattoo, afraid somebody might find him out. Fake, they said. Disgusted, they said. All the same, people were all the same.

Heard his name indistinctly, someone calling for him, familiar voice, a voice he knew so well, Minho woke up from his turmoil. In front of him, Jinwoo cupped his face, lips moving; the confusion and fear in his eyes, they scared Minho. Maybe that was the end of it, he punched some stranger in the face over something he shouldn't do. Other customers stared at him, they knew, they knew already, they knew the dirty secret Minho had been hiding. Maybe it all happened in his head, though, he felt the stares behind his back, piercing his skin, curious and patronizing and everything. He needed to get out of there, away from people.

His chest grew tight as he walked faster and faster, running, fleeing, so fast he wanted to throw up. Too much, he ignored his mom's questions. Too much, Minho slammed the door of his room. Still too much, he curled in his bed, darkness surrounded him, smothered his vision. He would be okay, he had been okay, he could make it, he should be okay. All those years living in a different city, far away from his hometown, doing everything he could be only to stabilize himself and do well. He had to be okay.

Jinwoo opened the door, sat on his bed. He glowed in the dark, the Rubik's cube wasn't there when Minho held his hand, in fact, his skin was so clear, transparent, then shattered on him.

Minho woke up, cold sweat on his back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay,” his voice genuine and vulnerable.
> 
> The naive part of Minho wanted to do as the younger said, arms wrapped around him forever and ever and ever. The practical part told him to leave, immediately, before too late.
> 
> It was late, or too early, something between. Three o'clock, the sky still dark, Minho chose to stay. He lay there, listened to Jinwoo’s breath, ghosted a finger along the latter’s arm, up and down, as a meditation, worshipping his existence.

It was dark, Minho caught a cab, sent Jinwoo a quick text. Fifteen missed calls, thirty-six messages from Seunghoon but he wasn't in the mood for some lectures. When the cab arrived at Jinwoo's apartment, he was already there waiting for Minho, the confusion and fear still there in his eyes. Minho felt sorry and angry and definition of every emotion mixing together, something off, something exploded. Something screamed and laughed like a stink rat. A pair of cold hand caressed his arms, tenderly, tugged him inside. Jinwoo ran around looking for the band-aid, gave him water, checking his hand. He was everywhere, looking at everything, anything but Minho.

“Jinwoo stop!” Minho grasped his arm, attempting to read his face. "Why are you avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?”

Jinwoo bit his lip, still refuse to look at him.

"Look at me, why are you avoiding me?" He tried again, silence subsided, Minho felt like crying. Even though he had it coming, it still hurt, it hurt fucking bad, like a swarm of fucking stupid wasps. Like a fire. He forced himself to believe it would be different, to believe in a delusion.

“The pencil," Jinwoo let out a sigh as if he had been holding it for the whole time, "I dropped your pencil under your bed... so I looked, and there your soulmate's stuff. The letters and-- and the photos. You and your soulmate look nice together, I don’t think-- I never noticed but your marks are beautiful, and they... match him well."

Jinwoo kept his head down, arm trembled, opening Minho's mind. He didn't realize Jinwoo probably had his own insecurities, too concerned over his own misery to pay attention. The latter tested the water so many times but as oblivious as he was, Minho didn't see a thing. He pulled up his sleeve, almost too fast, exposing his bare arm. 

"These are tattoos.”

A poignant pause ensued, Minho waited for Jinwoo to push him away, to asked him to leave, out of his sight, forever, in the same way people reacted when Minho opened up his heart. Jinwoo didn’t, only looked at him with soft eyes, like Minho was a priceless work of art.

“My soulmate passed away four years ago,” Minho’s breath hitched, “after our pretty bad break up,”

Minho never talked about his soulmate with anyone, buried it deep underneath his shame and regret. Those who knew him would avoid the topic, they were uncomfortable or thought he wasn’t comfortable talking about it. They took time choosing every single word and checked his face every minute, treating him as if he was made of glass. 

The second year at university, Minho started to get tattoos, covering up his clear skin, make up a story about his soulmate, hook up with some folks on the campus, nothing serious, couldn’t be serious. Often found himself making out with some people he didn’t even know, drink in his hand, the parties went on and on, young and lively. No matter how much he tried, how many people he dated, something was missing, the void in his heart still there, because in the end, he was the one left behind. He was afraid of his own bed, couldn't bring himself to close his eyes without wondering if it was his karma.

Then he met Jinwoo, and his life was split into two, before him and after him.

“For all I know, he’d swallowed some shit,” Minho pressed his stomach, “my body was boiling like someone stabbed me from the inside. It hurt so bad, the pain was too much I just wanted to die--”

A pair of soft lips cut him off. Minho returned the kiss, started it small, kept it slow. Jinwoo tilted his head, noses brushed against his, deepened the kiss. His mouth tasted like the beer they drank, the giggly rush in his blood

“Your lips are dry,” Jinwoo said in the middle of the kiss, stroking Minho’s face with his slim fingers.

He smelled so good up close, the smell of a rainy morning deep in the wood. The rate of his heart increased, beating loudly. At that point, he didn’t even mind the marks on Jinwoo’s skin, lucid and striking. Everything began with a peck, another peck, a deep kiss, and ended with Minho sitting at the edge of a bed, heads threw back, hand full of Jinwoo’s hair.

Between his thighs, Jinwoo looked beautiful and almost dreamy, hands around the base, head bobbing back and forth, back and forth.

“Shit-- Jinwoo, you’re so good…”

Jinwoo hummed in amusement, sending gorgeous vibrations traveling through his veins, straight to his toes. The weight of the world crashed on Minho, it wasn’t right, but Jinwoo took care of him so tenderly. He licked his balls, peppered them with chaste kisses, his thumb ran around the tip, slowly, slowly, frustratingly slowly. Minho hissed when Jinwoo used his teeth but the latter only looked up with a fucking smirk before swallowing his shaft again. It was insane how he hollowed his cheeks and made it so tight and moist. His mouth felt so warm around him, that mischievous tongue flicked over the tip again and again and again.

Right when things were about to get better, Minho was pinned down the bed, the warmness gone. Jinwoo propped his elbows on either side, sweats dripping, eyes rich in darkness. There was no turning back, he wasn’t in his right mind to care. Long before Minho had noticed, Jinwoo’s lips were dragging over his jawline, stopped at his lips, then up to his ear, eager, distressed, he wanted everything.

Minho drew a long line along his spine, down and down and down, between the cheeks, petted, experimented. Jinwoo pushed back against his fingers, demanding more. It was too much, too enchanting. Minho held the waistband and pulled down his sweatpants, Jinwoo eagerly kicked them onto the floor and took off every clothes between them. He has a nice body, just like Minho had imagined, his marks were enthralling like clusters of constellation spreading across his torso. Minho rolled his hips, rubbing their cocks together, Jinwoo’s moans strangled, he dragged his hand down to increase the friction, and Minho could die right there, choked down in a deep breath when Jinwoo kissed his chest, damped his nipple with saliva.

He sucked his fingers and brought them behind Jinwoo, circling the rim, enjoying his short and shallow breaths. Slipped one finger in, his inside throbbed against his digit, way too hot, his heart skipped so many beats, and Jinwoo gasped like he was going to break. For sure he couldn’t, Minho kept prodding the spot, rolling his hips harder as the latter turned into a mess, a beautiful mess, his beautiful mess. Then two, then three fingers, in the heat of the moment, Minho pulled Jinwoo down for an open-mouthed kiss, sucked the latter's tongue, feeling it squirming between his lips.

“The nightstand,” Jinwoo mumbled, voice hoarse, “second drawer.”

Fumbling around, Minho tossed a pack of condoms and the lube on the bed. He watched as Jinwoo pushed himself up with a groan, struggled to tear the wrapper with his hands shaking, rolled one on Minho’s cock, slicking it with lube.

Minho ran his hands behind his thighs, stroking with a steady rhythm as Jinwoo guided his cock into his entrance and eased down.

“Jinwoo, wait, let me--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine…”

It was fine, they were fine if Jinwoo said so; Minho let him be, distracting him by playing with his nipple, planting kisses all over chest, muscles stiff under his touch. The other bit his lip, wiggling to adjust Minho’s cock. It was so tight but Jinwoo had his way, back arched, inaudible moans, and he took it so well.

One minute felt like forever, kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss, lips locking, spit exchanging, and still not enough; Minho pressed their bodies closer, held his waist tighter, clung on him so they could become one even just for a sole moment.

“Forget everything,” Jinwoo pressed their forehead against each other, started rolling his hips, “whatever it is, just forget it."

His voice was hauntingly mesmerizing, captivating (for a second, Minho actually blanked it out). Minho watched his cock thrust in and out of Jinwoo’s body, the tactile pleasure increased as he bounced faster and faster. Jinwoo felt like an adolescent sky, rose and fell above him, skin like hot coals burning against his, lips parted, eyes closed tight, sweat matted his hair. He looked so breathtaking and seductive like this. Such tasteful, such irresistible.

But that wouldn’t do, that position wasn’t right. Minho sat up, causing Jinwoo to tense, a groan of protest escaped his lips. Wrapped an arm around him, Minho slowly laid him down on his back, showering his face with kisses, covering the mark on his shoulder with hickeys.

“This easier for me to fuck you,” he placed Jinwoo’s legs on his shoulders, hips jerking, satisfied how those words made Jinwoo’s asshole squeeze his cock tighter.

A few thrusts and Minho quickly picked up the pace they left. Jinwoo pulled him down for a kiss, nails dug deeper into his back, Jinwoo was incredibly flexible and Minho’s cock twitched as his head imagined every possible position they could try. He kissed Jinwoo everywhere his lips could reach, hips bucking fast and hard and harder, the sensation down there was almost insane.

Moans and grunts, and bites. Gasps, inhaled, exhaled, wet skin and everything, Jinwoo came first. A familiar clench in his abdomen and Minho soon followed. Very naturally, the latter kissed his temple, like an old habit, reminding him, and things slowed down until he released all.

Minho lazily smooched Jinwoo’s neck, giving himself some time to catch his breath. Alcohol left, then reality slowly sank into him. Jinwoo had a soulmate out there waiting for him, Minho was nothing, probably a one-night, perhaps a mishap. But Jinwoo stroked his back so tenderly it couldn't be real.

Minho carefully got up, rolled the used condom off and threw it in the small trash can in the corner. Even without looking, he could tell Jinwoo was staring at his back. The latter lounged there, breathtaking, fingers pressed against his palm. He studied the marks on Jinwoo’s torso, analyzing the meaning behind them. The crossword puzzle on his shoulder and the drum on stomach were such a strange combination.

“Stay,” his voice genuine and vulnerable.

The naive part of Minho wanted to do as the younger said, arms wrapped around him forever and ever and ever. The practical part told him to leave, immediately, before too late.

It was late, or too early, something between. Three o'clock, the sky still dark, Minho chose to stay. He lay there, listened to Jinwoo’s breath, ghosted a finger along the latter’s arm, up and down, as a meditation, worshipping his existence.

 

And the morning came, Jinwoo’s roommate opened the door more loudly than necessary, stomped his feet, threw his stuff, did everything with an extra attitude. The noises did wake Minho up. He opened his eyes, dry throat, bitter tongue. Looked at the roommate (slender, hands too big) standing in the doorway, awkwardly nodded his head, acknowledging his unwelcome presence. He only caught a glimpse of him a few times but they never talked. On the other hand, Jinwoo turned around and snuggled deeper into his arms, whining something unclear, and the ache in his head faded (or he thought so).

Someone cleared the throat.

“So it’s you?” The roommate asked.

The question threw Minho off, he just woke up and it was way too early for his brain to start functioning.

“Soulmate?”

Minho shook his head, the latter shot him a pity look, like he knew something, like he tried to warn him of what might happen, then disappeared, didn’t even close the door.

That was wacky, Minho thought as he gazed around, made sure to imprint everything on his mind. He had always stayed in the living room, avoiding Jinwoo’s room as best as he could, because bedrooms had beds, and beds would lead to something else, something too good to be true.

It was too good to be true, being inside Jinwoo’s room, lying next to him in his bed. His room has a sense of indescribable satisfaction, felt just like him.

Jinwoo finally woke up after his roommate kicked the bathroom door twice; puffy eyes, stubble on chin, hair disheveled, and he still looked ridiculously handsome, leaving Minho awestruck, chest pounded, groin ached slightly.

“Morning...” Jinwoo greeted him with a raspy voice and Minho’s eyes dropped to his lips immediately.

“Can I kiss you?” Minho asked, more desperate than he had thought.

“It’s morning--”

“I don’t mind.”

Jinwoo reluctantly kissed him on the jaw, a chaste one, but that was enough.

“How’s your hand?”

His question sent a wave of soreness to his hand, the knuckles were all red, scratched, terrible.

“Thank you for reminding, now it hurts.”

“Can you still help me shave?”

Minho didn’t think too much and nodded straight away.

Jinwoo’s skin was strangely soft, Minho couldn’t bring himself to slide the shaver, trembled a little. Jinwoo laughed, his laugh was just as soft as his skin and didn’t help stop his shaking hand at all. And so he dropped it, crashed their lips together and that was a wrong decision because the shaving cream was the worst kind of thing could go in your mouth.

 

Things were pretty much the same, yet he learned a lot more about Jinwoo, as they talked at night, saying nighty-night when the birds started chirping outside, as he less visited the coffee shop but slept in Jinwoo’s bed more, as they made out and fucked around while listening to a chill hip-hop beat from his phone. Jinwoo might look sweet but he only drank coffee with no cream nor sugar, liked thrilling stuff that got Minho flustered sometimes. The sun was his enemy and summer was his fear. And Jinwoo wasn't so innocent like his fairy look when he dragged him to the employees' restroom in the middle of his shift. Minho obeyed, of course, who dared to reject a prince, especially when he was on his knees already, licking the tip, and Minho’s soul immediately sucked out of the body. His lips were everywhere, kissing, biting. At some point, Minho lost it, didn't remember the rest of the night.

Needless to say, nothing could escape Seunghoon's notice, though Minho tried really hard (maybe not that hard) to be subtle. One quiet night at the coffee shop, Seunghoon dragged Minho standing next to Jinwoo, arms folded in front of his chest, glaring at them, reminding him of his father when he saw his grades. However, Seunghoon was scarier in many ways, Minho held his breath, waiting for whatever coming, although he did nothing wrong. 

"Minho, your mom asked why you don't go home lately."

Minho scratched his head, glancing at Jinwoo for an answer. 

"Minho, he..." Jinwoo hesitated, blinking once, twice, "he sleeps at my place because--"

“Ah," Seunghoon seemed satisfied with half of the answer, "so you two sleep together. Interesting.”

Minho choked, aggressively coughed like he was on the edge of dying, while Jinwoo bit his lips, staring at the ceiling.

"C'mon," Seunghoon continued, "say something, are you dating or not?" 

“Don’t know,” Jinwoo turned to Minho, his eyes alight with joy, “are we?”

“Are we?”

Jinwoo smiled, shining brightly. He was beautiful, no matter how much Minho looked at him, it always felt like the first time, always mesmerizing, to the point it annoyed him because everyone else probably felt the same, but Minho finally had a reason to rage at them. A proper one. He thought he lost his mind already, everywhere he went, all he could see was Jinwoo and his sweet smile, pretty eyes, every day and night, showing him how beautiful this life could be, how heaven existed right on earth, as long as Jinwoo by his side.  

Seunghoon snapped his fingers, brought Minho back to the real life.

“If you two kiss, I’m gonna kick both of you out.”

"We won't, promise," Jinwoo put up two fingers, cheeks flustered.

“Shut up, Jinwoo, don't think I don't know what you guys did. Remember I said there's a camera in the back room?"

"Hey, that's illegal--"

"It's not because the back room isn't the place for you to suck each other's face."

"We did not."

Minho leaned against the counter, gazed at Jinwoo’s lips as he talked, he'd kissed those lips so many times and still didn't feel enough. It was a privilege to be with Jinwoo like that, a miracle he thought only happened in dreams. 

"Yo, Minho," Seunghoon flicked his forehead, "are you listening?"

"No, but don't say an--" a nudge from Jinwoo, "sorry, what did you say again?"

Seunghoon smirked, Minho knew that meant his friend found something new to tease him.

"I was gonna give you my blessing but you're pathetic."

He was, Minho admitted, he was pathetic, so pathetic, too pathetic for Jinwoo, but the latter squeezed his hand so tight, gazed at him with great fondness, nothing made sense, nothing true, but he couldn't ask for more.

  

A hand snaked under the blanket, stroking his back, from the shoulder blades to lower back, some kisses here and there. At that time, Minho was wide awake, mentally and sexually. He could hear Jinwoo touching himself, muffling his moans with something. The pace was incredibly quick, Minho hoped his boyfriend was thinking about him only.

“Won’t you help me out, baby?”

The word “baby” coming from Jinwoo sounded sexy and simultaneously like tropical ocean waves. Minho turned around, Jinwoo already pulled his own boxers down to his thighs. He leaned forward and kissed him, hand massaging Jinwoo’s crotch.

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Call me that again.”

“Baby?” Jinwoo laughed out loud, hand dragged to his chest, left it there, so intimate, so natural, “baby, please-”

Minho trapped Jinwoo under his body. Jinwoo bit his lips, ears crimson, pupils dilated. Minho kissed the mark on his left chest, right above his nipple, a cat, a dog or whatever, those marks were just tattoos, Minho told himself, similar to the scars on his forearms, the freckles on his face. They wouldn’t fade out, but couldn’t cause pains.

_“Are you moving in?”_

_Minho looked up from his sketchbook to see Jinwoo’s roommate stepped into the room (uninvitedly) with the same cocky tone._

_“I’m not.”_

_“You literally live here. I see you more than I see Jinwoo.”_

_Minho stopped his hand, the truth dawned on him. He stayed in Jinwoo’s room most of the time, even when Jinwoo wasn’t there. He could use the excuse "his room has the vibe I need for drawing" but that would only make things weirder._

_“Don’t you have a soulmate?”_

_No one asked him that question for a while, he almost forgot._

_“I used to.”_

_Jinwoo’s roommate nodded, didn’t even pretend to understand the meaning behind it._

_“But Jinwoo does, he hasn’t found them doesn’t mean he doesn't have one--” he sounded so sure, Minho started to doubt himself._

_“What if the marks were wrong?”_

_“The marks are never wrong, you know it.”_

The marks were never wrong.

Then it was them, they met each other in the wrong life. Maybe in the next life, the life after that, the life after that, or the life after that, in which there were no ridiculous marks, Jinwoo didn’t belong to anyone but him. Only him. Then everything would finally be right.

Perhaps, if he stroked his neck like that, the mark would vanish. Perhaps if he kept his hand like that, he would belong to him. Perhaps if he held him tight, perhaps if he kissed him, perhaps, perhaps...

“Minho!”

Minho was shaken out of his reverie as Jinwoo pushed him away in a gasp. Minho watched him shaking, clumsily massaged his back, humming a reckless love song. The song didn't really mean to soothe the latter, he just needed to calm himself. Perhaps, his heart beating fast didn’t mean anything, the garden in his stomach wasn’t real at all, not at all.

Minho closed his eyes, deep sighed.

Well, perhaps was just perhaps.

 

There was a lot of shouting when Minho woke up. The bed beside him was empty. Minho held his breath, running to the door. In the living room, Jinwoo's roommate sat on the couch, crossing his legs as if he was some important person, while Jinwoo stayed aloof, back towards his direction. From behind, he looked so delicate, so tiny, like asking Minho to go ahead and hug him, protect him from the ugly world.

“Seriously, this is not healthy!" Jinwoo's roommate was always too loud, "you guys only doing this because you’re fucking desperate! Minho will never be your soulmate.”

“Minho is more than a soulmate--”

"Ha, my ass, wait until you meet yours," his roommate huffed, the superiority in his voice got on Minho's nerve, "then it will be you, you alone, abandoning Minho and hurting him."

"I won't..."

"How do you know? How do you know you won't?"

"At least I know Minho doesn't cheat on me like your almighty soulmate--"

The roommate grasped Jinwoo’s shoulders abruptly, shoved him against the wall. Minho stepped out, yanked him to the ground. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" 

Seeing Minho left Jinwoo aghast, his ears were so red, his whole body was. Before Minho could do anything, he gripped his arms, asked him to stop. Minho hated it so much, his roommate just yelled at him and Jinwoo still defended him, sometimes, Minho wasn't sure if Jinwoo was truly an angel or just an idiot, but even if Jinwoo was an idiot, Minho would always listen to him.

Jinwoo offered his roommate a hand, but he smacked it away and stared at Minho instead, sort of agitated and ashamed. "You'll regret this."

Minho wanted to say he wouldn't, no matter what, he wouldn't regret a thing, but Jinwoo pulled him back to his room, leaving the other man behind; even he didn't believe himself.

"Minho," Jinwoo sounded like a dejected puppy, "can I stay at your place for a while?"

Obviously, totally, absolutely, he could stay for his whole life.

Jinwoo fetched his clothes, rolling, throwing them into his backpack. His hands shuddered, things slipped through his fingers ceaselessly. Minho enfolded him from behind, kissed his hair, calming him down. Jinwoo turned to bury his face against Minho’s shoulder, didn’t cry.

"Did you hear everything?"

He did, enough to know the story, but that wouldn't help at all. He held Jinwoo's hand, his trembling hand, fingers intertwined, pressing his lips.

"A little."

"Don't hate him, he's having a hard time, actually, he’s a good guy.”

Too bad, he didn’t look like one, Minho kept the thought to himself.

"But you trust me, don't you?"

It took Minho a moment to nod, what Jinwoo's roommate said lingered on his mind longer than he’d thought. They crept up along his veins, reached for his heart, swallowed him entirely. He wasn’t sure if what would happen when Jinwoo met his soulmate. It was too unnerving to imagine, so Minho let it go, hoped for an alternative end.

The bus ride to his house was prolonged, almost never-ending, Minho still held tight on Jinwoo's hand, attempting to prove something he didn't know.

When Minho told his family about Jinwoo's situation, his sister clapped her hands loudly, singing that annoying melody from the Bridal Chorus, his parents exchanged a quick glance then convinced Jinwoo to call them mom and dad. Minho acted like his family embarrassed him but his heart exploded with content when Jinwoo timidly nodded his head.

"Good job, Minho," his mom said once Jinwoo went to the bathroom, adding more shade to his already red face, "you like him a lot, right?”

Minho nodded vigorously.

"It seems like he also likes you...”

He hoped so, Jinwoo never said it, he didn't ask, maybe Jinwoo wasn't ready, maybe Minho thinking too much.

  

The air was bit cooler as the summer about to end, they wouldn't have much time to hang out since Jinwoo would be back to college soon. It was time to move out, to some place that no one invaded their little bubble and had nothing to do with Jinwoo's roommate. Living with his parents was great and all, they didn't need to think about the rent, but it was a torture trying to keep down at night with Jinwoo tempting his endurance all the time. 

Except when he was working on his computer, Jinwoo would stay far far away, perhaps millions of miles from him, then it his turn trying to get Jinwoo to bother him.

“What do you think?” Minho scooted over a little, let Jinwoo sit on his lap, hand on his waist.

Jinwoo looked closely at the screen, biting his lip, thinking hard.

“It looks great, but I can barely see the text, in fact, I can’t see anything at all.”

“Exactly, that’s what I told them, these people really get on my nerves," Minho ruffled his hair in frustration, "I swear they changed their mind faster than Usain Bolt--”

“Want some froyo?”

“No, I--”

“Let’s go, you need a break.” Jinwoo tugged him out of his room and Minho couldn't hide his grin at how his plan worked out well.

The street wasn't so hectic as usual, a bit too slow, like the calm before the storm. They strolled side by side, joking around about meaningless things. Without warning, Jinwoo hitched his shoulder and ran ahead, sticking his tongue at him, Minho laughed at how childish Jinwoo was but increased his speed and took the lead. Walking to the dessert shop quickly turned into a race to see who would pay for the yogurt. Jinwoo might look like a bouquet of baby's breath but he had the power of a real bull, running like crazy without a break. Minho just gave up in the middle of the race when his chest started to tighten up, back sweated profusely, rather lose money than his life. Jinwoo clutched his stomach after a burst of laughter at how Minho dramatically clinging onto the lamppost, pleading him to stop.

They found a place to sit in the corner and shared a bowl of yogurt together like a real couple. Jinwoo happily had a spoonful of yogurt, face twisted at the sour taste, he was so cute Minho felt like having another cardiac arrest.

"I've been thinking," Minho said, already finished two pieces of waffle, "should we move out? I mean not right now but when your lease term ends, yeah?"

A smile crossed Jinwoo's face, running fingers through his hair. "I thought you'll never ask." 

"So that's a yes?" 

"Yes, that's a yes."

Minho looked around, waiting for a chance, then brought Jinwoo's hand to his lips, planted a kiss. Jinwoo retreated his hand and called him cheesy, but didn't stop him when he leaned over and pecked him on his cheek. 

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can ask me anything, baby boy."

"When I... uh-- your soulmate's letters," Jinwoo swallowed hard, "there's one you didn't open."

Ah, the letter, Minho totally forgot about it. Ever since the funeral, he kept it inside the box, labeled soulmate and hid it under his bed, together with tons of other things belonging to his soulmate.

"It's the one before his suicide, he likes writing letters." Minho explained, surprised at the calmness in his voice, "I guess I wasn't ready to read it, afraid, sort of."

Jinwoo took a hold of his hand, a new wave of emotion hit him.

"I'm fine now, maybe one day we should r--"

Minho’s tongue felt disgusted, somewhat astringent. Too abruptly, his stomach dropped. The connection, it was strong, punching his guts. Minho turned his head, looking for the source of his ghoulish feeling. He was right, at the door, in the middle of a group, a man stared back at them, even from a great distance, he could see the coffee bean on the back of his hand, right where Jinwoo had his mark of the Rubik's cube. Jinwoo looked stunned as well, his eyes wide opened. The air was dead. Minho didn't know what to do next, he was an outsider, a third wheel, a thorn in the eye.

As the other guy started to move towards them, Jinwoo swiftly dragged Minho out of their seats, almost running, forcefully passing by his soulmate.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Once they were outside, Minho squeezed Jinwoo's hand, signaling him to stop, but the latter kept moving, only faster. 

“No, keep going.”

“Jinwoo…”

“No.”

“Jinwoo…”

Jinwoo finally stopped, head kept low, embarrassed, like he was scared. 

“I don’t want to upset you.”

Minho envied the fact Jinwoo understood him too well, reading him like an open book. His fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm, body drastically exhausted.

“Tell me honestly, do you want to--" Minho couldn't finish his sentence, no way he could ask his boyfriend to choose when he already knew the result, "be honest with me."

For a moment, Minho wished Jinwoo would say no, shake his head, laugh at him saying it was some stupid kind of prank. They shared an intense stare for a few seconds before Jinwoo let go of his arm. The younger asked him to wait, but how could he, when the guy held Jinwoo’s hand the way he held his the first time they met, how they fitted perfectly like two puzzle pieces and people start cheering when he pulled Jinwoo into a hug.

Minho couldn’t stand it, it was hurt enough to see the marks on Jinwoo’s skin had nothing to do with him, so sickening just looking at them, reminding him Jinwoo would never be his.

The way home was quiet. Minho stopped by a gas station and bought a pack of cigarette. It felt great to fill his lungs up with tobacco smoke again after a long long time. At least it would stop hurting, even for a slim minute, it would stop, the whole world would stop. So the marks were never wrong, the marks were never wrong, they were never wrong, Minho had his soulmate and Jinwoo had his. Minho lost his soulmate and Jinwoo found his. It shouldn’t hurt that much, life would carry on and on without waiting for anyone. He thought he was used to it but obviously, he had underestimated a heartbreak. He was lonely, freaking lonely, strangely lonely like he was under some sort of spell.

  

Jinwoo came home two hours later, still the same, maybe a little brighter, a bit more loveable. Was the neck of his shirt always that deep? It could be the effect of soulmate, or something else, the thought churned Minho' stomach, boiled his blood. He pulled Jinwoo into a kiss, a bit too aggressively, found himself pressing his tongue, yearning for the taste of Jinwoo; but he needed more than just tasting. If it had been possible, he would’ve devoured Jinwoo’s whole body, bit by bit, until they became one, that way, he would be his only. 

Minho dragged his lips along Jinwoo's jawline, lower to his neck, lower, and lower. Then, his brows furrowed in disgust, because it was there, the fucking mark on Jinwoo's shoulder which literally translated as _fuck off, loser_  was right there, burning his eyes. He bit it, he knew it hurt Jinwoo, and how he hated to hurt him, yet the thought of Jinwoo belonging to someone else kept squeezing his lungs; so he bit the mark, he bit Jinwoo.

The latter got confounded by Minho's sudden action, he dragged his hand upon his chest, pleading.

“Minho, stop!” Minho bit harder, his teeth inserted deeply into his flesh, the smell of blood got his adrenaline going. "You're hurting me, Minho!"

With a groan, Jinwoo shoved him back, pushing him out from his jealousy.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, baby, oh shit,” one thing at which Minho was extraordinarily good was immediately regretting upon his prudence, “oh shit."

He checked Jinwoo's shoulder, internally cursed at himself as he found some ointment and gently rubbed it on his already swollen wound.

"I'm so sorry, this is so--" Minho was losing his mind, "I was scared, I didn't-- I couldn't control--"

Jinwoo hissed. “You think I'm not?” 

He did. Why did Jinwoo need to be afraid? There was no reason for that. The one left behind was him, Jinwoo had a soulmate always there for him. What else was he afraid?

“You really think I’m not?” Jinwoo asked again, disbelieved.

“Why do you have to be, though? You have your soulmate, you have everything." Minho stopped his hand. "Maybe they’re right. My friends. Your friends. Everyone. Maybe, maybe, we-”

“This,” Jinwoo cut him, voice cracked, “this is exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“I don’t know, I--” Minho’s words began to shatter, he could not breathe, or at least he forgot how to do so, “I don’t think we could--”

No, that wasn’t what he wanted, not what he needed either. He only wanted to be with Jinwoo, against fate and everything else. His brain was numb, completely numb. There was a knot in his chest devouring his heart and blurring his eyes. Minho should grab Jinwoo’s hand, hold him back, an apology lingered on the tip of his tongue, it might be too late, he didn’t know, he didn’t want to know, but his body was against his mind, didn’t move an inch, Jinwoo was too far away, out of his reach.

Jinwoo ramped out of the door, there was nothing left, Minho crumpled, that what he deserved, he told himself, that what he deserved 

There were footsteps outside, some knocks, then his mom opened the door, bewildered. 

"Minho, what happened? Are you and Jinwoo fighting? Why does he suddenly leave like that?"

"I fucked it up, mom," Minho lowered his head, hands covering his face, "I fucked it up."

  

“What the fuck!” Seunghoon exclaimed once Minho finished the story, his scream could possibly break his phone, "you fucking jerk!"

“I know I am, dude," Minho was the worst jerk in the world, "but the connection, even I could feel it--”

"So what? So you have a right to ditch Jinwoo?"

"They are soulmates, how could I stand a chance?" A knife twisted in his guts, it was so dry and retrospective yet Minho could not recall, 

“Did you ask him what he feels?”

“What?”

“Did you ask Jinwoo about his feelings? Or just you all talking and being salty by yourself?”

Minho didn’t answer, Seunghoon probably didn’t even need one.

"I gotta go," Minho hung up, stormed out of his house, catch a cab to the place he knew by heart.

The door remained closed, no matter how hard he knocked. Nothing. What if Jinwoo moved out with his soulmate already? It hadn't been that long, only a few hours wouldn't be enough. He dialed his number, nothing, not even a ring. He tried again, his hands trembled. Still nothing. He tried and tried and tried, but all he could do was trying.

“Looking for Jinwoo?”

Minho didn’t even hide his disappointment when Jinwoo’s roommate approached him through the hallway, hands full of bags.

“Did he come back here?”

“He did, then he said he'll crash his friend’s place," he put the bags down, searching for the apartment key, "I don’t know where it is.”

It couldn't be, the scenario playing in his head again, Jinwoo moved in with his soulmate, started a new life, soon enough, he would forget Minho, forget everything they were.

“Are you two fighting?” The roommate asked, as bluntly as before.

“Sort of.” 

“That’s good, it’s your chance to break up--”

"What is your problem?" Minho blew up at the other, did not bother keeping his voice low anymore. “Why do you have to hate me so much?”

“There's no reason to hate you, I pity you," Jinwoo's roommate inserted the key, turned the doorknob, "I used to think like you and Jinwoo, naively believed that we were different, but life isn't always like in movies, though."

He went inside and slammed the door, leaving Minho alone with his hopes broken.

 

Minho opened the letter for the first time, somehow, he felt an urge to do so, an urge to look for some comfort, some consolation. Just as he always knew, his soulmate’s words were plainly lonely, the entire letter screamed lonely. The way he wrote it was just too meticulous, his choice of words, the arrangement. He had prepared it for a long time.

 _Do you ever love me?_ was the first sentence his soulmate wrote.

Did he love him? Minho wasn’t sure. He didn’t know, didn’t dare to answer. For some reason, Minho couldn’t bring himself to say yes. It stuck in his throat, stayed there. He thought it was a silly question, obviously, it wasn’t.

_I’m sure it’s not easy, this is the question I’ve been asking myself the whole time, what is this thing between us? I’m afraid of the answer..._

If the thing between them wasn’t love then what was it? Soulmate? Was it even a thing? That brought Seunghoon to mind somehow. It never crossed Minho's mind what those feelings were, if they had names, if they truly existed. The moment Minho and his soulmate met, immediately, their minds clicked the same way just like how soulmates were supposed to be. And they went out like any other people. So when they broke up, he didn’t take it serious enough, believed they would get back together eventually, that was how the soulmate things worked. He went on ignoring everything his soulmate said, assuming he was merely overreacting.

Then it happened. So suddenly, on a lonely night when Minho was in the dorm. He cried a lot, bed sheet turned into mud, sunlight turned into fire. Minho wished he had been there for him at his toughest time, by some chance, he could have saved him. But his heart was small, he only thought about his own problems and turned a blind eye to everything else.

When he died, Minho's heart died with him, then Jinwoo stepped into his life, his empty heart fulfilled again, he was alive than ever. The way his soulmate’s hands felt, Minho couldn’t really remember, but Jinwoo’s hands were small in his, definitely not soft, always cold as ice, yet it felt so right, so so right. Minho wiped his eyes, told himself to not cry, to hold back, to swallow, and take it all.

His phone vibrated with a new text message from a strange number, sending him an address.

  

A guy opened the door (thank God, or whoever up there, he wasn’t Jinwoo's soulmate), small eyes, thick lips, as if his face only had lips. He looked familiar somehow, Minho noticed the string of tiny instruments on his right arm but couldn’t recollect where he had seen it.

“Hi, I’m Seungyoon, the one texted you," Seungyoon whispered.

“Thank you--”

“No need, come inside,” he moved over, let Minho get in, “whatever you do, stay away from my bed. And if you hurt him again," Seungyoon leaned over, too close, their noses almost touched, "I’m gonna find you and kill you.”

“I--”

“Haha, just kidding!”

And just that, he wished him good luck and left. Minho wondered if all of Jinwoo's friends were weird like that.

He took a sneak peek inside, seeing Jinwoo lying on the couch, playing his phone while the TV on relieved his nerves, putting his crippling anxiety at ease. 

“Hey Seungyoon, who was it?” Jinwoo's voice was raspy as if he'd been crying the whole time.

Minho wondered if he should answer or turn back and run out of the door like how he used to handle problems.

“It’s me.”

Jinwoo’s head snapped up, eyes wide opened in astonishment as though he saw a ghost passing by, his phone dropped on the floor, followed by a curse Minho thought he would never hear from Jinwoo. 

“What are you doing here?" Jinwoo asked, the instability in his voice was audible. "Where’s Seungyoon?”

“He’s going... somewhere,” Minho hesitated, “I just wanna talk, but if you don’t want to-- I’ll leave.”

Jinwoo turned off the tv, Minho knew that meant he could stay. Didn’t know what else to do, he stood still. It felt like their first day all over, all shy and curious.

“Are you’re doing okay?” Minho began, gulping down the lump in his throat.

“Now you’re asking.” Jinwoo got up, stood right before him, face to face, staring into his soul. Minho was the taller, bigger one but in front of Jinwoo, he felt tiny like a grain of sand in a vast desert, so he had no choice but to avert his head, looked down at his feet.

“I told my soulmate I had a boyfriend then my boyfriend broke up with me do you think I’m doing okay?”

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

By some means, Minho recalled they had the same conversation sometime in the past. Every memory from the hot summer came back, sweeping his mind. They were intimate like that, full of passion, the promises they made, the plans they had, Minho didn't know he missed the latter that much. All of sudden, he craved for Jinwoo's lips once again, it might be the last day afterward and they could never see each other again and breakup kisses weren’t his thing but those lips were plump and sweet and Jinwoo kept biting on them.

“Can I kiss you?”

Well, fuck, great job Minho, he slapped himself. Despite the situation, he still managed to think about his lips. Those delicious lips.

“You think this is funny?” Jinwoo seemed lost, “I’m not joking.”

“No, sorry, I don’t-- I don't even know what I’m saying," Minho stuttered, his words all jumbled up, "I just miss you. I’m sorry, it was-- I really miss you. I'm so sorry.”

They locked eyes, the glance quickly turned into a gaze. Minho found himself intrigued, a bit possessive by the way the latter bit his lips. The bubbly sensation running through his veins once again. He never felt this much of emotion for anyone before, too much, overwhelming. 

“Wanna go meet him tomorrow?” Jinwoo asked, his voice softened, the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.

“Your soulmate?”

“Yeah, he said he won’t give up until he meets you.”

“I’d love to, your highness,” Jinwoo’s chuckle was sincere, contagious, and nearly edible, driving him crazy, “please forgive this ignorant peasant, I was unreasonable and immature.”

“Fine, I’ll forgive you, silly peasant.”

“So..." Minho licked his lips, "may I kiss you now, please?”

Jinwoo spaced out for a while, debating, leaned forward and pressed their lips together, and Minho wrapped his arms around Jinwoo, squeezing, kissed him hard, putting every jealousy and distress from his heart into the kiss. The warmth he craved, the scent he missed, his apologies came out a little too late.

It didn't last long, Jinwoo broke the kiss, his brow furrowed.

“I was about to ask earlier, did you smoke?”

“I…" Minho wiped his mouth, "sorry, you don't like it?”

“It's fine, just don't do it too much, not good for your health.”

“Well, I’m already intoxicated by you so--”

Jinwoo burst out laughing, slapping his chest. Minho missed that so much, missed everything about the younger, it hadn't been a day and he felt like a lifetime. He took Jinwoo in his arms, hid his face in the crook of his neck, saying what he always wanted to say. 

“Are you still going back to Guam next year?” 

“Yeah, haven’t seen my parents for half a decade.” Jinwoo stroked his back tenderly, they swayed back and forth in a slow motion.

“Actually," Minho kissed the newly wound on the younger's shoulder, guilt built up inside, "can I go with you?”

“Huh? Of course, you can. That sounds nice, let’s go together.” Jinwoo cupped his face, made sure he looked at him in the eyes. “You know, the first time we met, I thought you were my soulmate...,” his words flickered, “you’re just so warm, so special, so…”

He didn’t finish, left it hanging in the air, his eyes never reached Minho. For a moment, a fragile gleam of hope, Minho was delighted with the thought that he might be the one for Jinwoo. The same sentiment, the same affection, the same tingly feeling in his stomach. If only he was.

But that wasn't necessary anymore, Minho knew exactly what his boyfriend meant.

For the first time, Minho felt concrete and alive. All the pains, mentally and physically, his tears and scars, nightmares and fantasies and hallucinations, fear and cowardice and hesitation, they all vanished into the air. He could die twice and still be alright, as long as Jinwoo was there with him.

In that moment, he realized he was in love.

They said he was killing himself, Jinwoo had his soulmate and would eventually leave him. That might be true, Minho didn’t deny. No matter what he did, nothing would change. The connection between soulmates was forceful and almost indestructible. But he loved Jinwoo. He just loved Jinwoo so much, despite all the preconceptions and objections. It took him no time to list ten thousand reasons he shouldn't do it, yet he had absolutely no specific reason why he fell so hard for the younger. He loved him because he was Jinwoo, simple like that. And in his little bubble, Jinwoo would love him, too, as he grasped Minho’s wrist, drawing him closer, the other hand held his nape, pulled him into another kiss.

So Minho ignored them all, ignored the whole world.

(In the end, Minho didn’t keep his promise to stay away from Seungyoon’s bed.)


End file.
